Nothing Compares To You

Hello again

There was a tentative knock at the door.  She groaned and opened her eyes. She'd been snoozing on the couch in front of the fire.  After her long day of settling into her new home, she just wanted to chill.  

Be kind she murmured to herself. Maybe it's Simon and Joe with food.  Mmmm, Mac and Cheese, maybe?  Her mouth watered at the thought.  With a smile, she pulled the wooden door open and paused.  Her mind went into freefall.

Iain.

"Well, so here you are, eh?" he pushed past her before she could stop him, and he walked straight into the little living area. "Nice.  It's a bit small for two, though, don't you think?" he turned and smiled coldly.  "Mind you, I suppose you'll spend most of your time upstairs in bed, won't you?  A little whore like you!" He was unsteady and she could see - and smell - several beers and a few whiskies on his breath.

"You're drunk." she didn't move from the door, hoping he would say what he needed to and leave.

"And you're a whore, yet here we are." he shrugged and sat down heavily on the sofa. On top of her mobile.  Shit.

"Iain, you need to leave.  How did you find me?  And wait - I thought you were flying out today?  Why ARE you here Iain?"  Attack was the best form of defence.  He hadn't hit her, he wasn't being threatening other than his foul language, so no point calling the Police, even if she COULD get her phone out from under him.

"Ah well, you see, I'm not as stupid as you think I am.  I watched you." he smiled and winked drunkenly.

"You WHAT?  You adding stalker to your list of character traits then?" she was so angry she forgot to be afraid. "How DARE you!" she walked forward and instantly realised that was a mistake.   In a moment he was up and pushed past her, locking the door.

"Not so clever now ARE we Miss High and Mighty?" he sneered as he stalked towards her.

"Touch me and so help me God I'm going to kill you." she hissed.  He burst out laughing.

"Kill me?  Dear God woman, you're no taller than a hobbit, you'll never reach!" he stalked forward. "Now, you and I are going to sit down and sort this out."  Before she could snatch her phone back, he grabbed it and smashed it off the wall. She looked at him in abject terror.

"Oh grow up Debbie.  I'm not going to kill you." he sneered. "Make you see my side, that's all.  Make you understand." he grabbed her roughly and peered into her face, his breath rancid and making her retch. "Was that me?" he asked suddenly quiet. "Did I do that?"

"Yes" her voice was calm and neutral.  

"Oh. I'm sorry." it was almost as if there were two Iain's in the room. The snarling spitting one that wanted to knock her into the middle of next week and the sorry, regretful one that she now saw. "I - I didn't mean to" he whined.

"No Iain, I don't believe you did." 

"But you deserved it.  You were making me angry." he began to change again and she suddenly became VERY afraid.  He was, not to put too fine a point on it, completely barking.

"I'm sorry. I really am.  I didn't mean to make you angry..." she began to talk, softly, quietly, appealing to the calm Iain.  For a moment, he seemed back in the room then, with a shake of her arm that almost dislocated her shoulder, drunken angry Iain reappeared.

"Didn't MEAN to?  What the fuck Debs?" the red mist came down and he threw her onto the sofa. "Did you really think telling me that you wouldn't marry me because you didn't LOVE me would be acceptable?  That you love that MORON Hiddleston?  The one that hurt you, left you, DIVORCED you?" he gloated. "I bet THAT hurt Debbie?  Being told you're worthless?"

She nodded, "I should have known better than to hurt you.  I'm sorry.  Look, sit down, I'll make us some tea. We can talk." she pretended to smile and laid a gentle hand on his arm.  If she could get him calm, she could get rid of him.  Then she could call someone.

"No tea." he barked back. 

"What then?"

"Just... not tea." he grabbed her arm, his large fingers bruising her flesh. "Drink.  Get me a proper drink."

"Ok, one minute." she stood, desperately searching for a way out of the situation.  Even drunk, he had the strength and speed to hurt her.  She needed to get him to sleep.  Sleep!  That was it.  She looked in the kitchen cupboards and nodded.  Good.

As she poured the whisky - she had nothing else in the house - into a couple of tumblers, she added ice and a little something extra into his.  A crushed antihistamine.  She didn't have sleeping tablets, not something she'd ever needed but she did have the old "don't drink and don't operate machinery" type hay-fever tablets.  

Swirling the glass, she walked back through, pretending to drink from it, handing him the other one.  Instantly, he grabbed her glass and made her take the one she proffered for him. "You have that one dear" he said, oozing slimy charm.  "Wouldn't want you getting us mixed up now would we?" 

He watched as she downed the glass, a look of terror on her face.  As she swallowed the last of it, he downed his own in one large open-mouthed gulp. Letting rip with a curse he slammed the glass down.  She tried not to react.

"Fuck me that's good stuff.  We'll have that in our house on tap." he crowed, looking at her rather more unsteadily. She nodded meekly.

"Ok. If you say so."

"What?" he seemed suspicious "What game are you playing?"

"I'm... I'm not... Playing a ga..." she began to slurr and stumble over her words.  Iain smiled and grabbed her chin as she stared, wide-eyed and trying to focus.

"You thought I was an idiot didn't you?  You thought I'd fall for the old tablets in the drink trick eh?  Well, Missy, you're dead wrong.  And you know something?  I'm going to enjoy proving that to you over and over again." he whispered in her ear, his breath like the sour blast from hell. "Just when you think it's all over...."

She sagged in his arms, mumbling incoherently.  He smiled.  Gently laying her on the sofa, he began to open her blouse,  she didn't resist, just lay there as his hands roamed her body.  

"Fuck it" he cursed as he failed to get the buttons undone.  He ripped the shirt open and the buttons sprayed away across the wooden floor. Suddenly overcome with tiredness and emotion, he grasped her breast in his hand and he massaged it roughly.  He wasn't going to waste time, she wouldn't be unconscious for long.   He squinted as he tried to pull her jeans off.  It was getting darker in the little cottage, and very, very warm.  He needed to strip off his clothes anyway for what he was about to do.  

After a few minutes of fumbling - how had he drunk so much - he got his shirt off.  He looked down at her, lying there, exposed and vulnerable.  He would never get a better opportunity.  Compliance in the extreme.  He ran a hand up her thigh and inside her underwear.  Studying her face, he could see she was out for the count.  Not a flicker of resistance, or anything else for that matter.  She was his for the taking.  Literally.

As he removed his hand, he stood to remove his own jeans and underwear.  The room began to spin and he regretted all that alcohol.  It had dulled the pain but made him a staggering wreck.   He began to try to move her, so that he could lie down with her. She was a dead weight, slight though she was.  He staggered and fell against the sofa, rolling off to the side.  His head was beginning to hurt.  Maybe he should just have forty..... he closed his eyes and was gone.

A loud snore indicated he was sound.  Debbie opened her eyes and sat up.  Without hesitating, she pulled her clothes back together, grabbed her coat and headed out into the night.  Locking the door behind her, she walked away.  It was cold, and wet and she was freezing.

Her plan?  Her plan didn't involve the police although she would probably had a watertight case.  No, her plan was far better. The "justice" system was flawed.  Her plan?  Sound as a pound. A plan, however, that relied on one small detail and as of that moment,  that detail was half way across town.  

Pulling her coat tightly about her, she trudged on.